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Pickup artist: “My seed is liquid gold and I don’t give it out like its god damn tap water.”

LaidInNYC has definitely been here.

LaidInNYC has definitely been here.

Our friend LaidNYC — the “Don’t Marry Women Over 25“ guy — is back with another amazing post. In this one, he expounds at length on the worth of his sperm. Which is apparently ALOT.

ALOT

Sorry. A LOT.

Let’s let him explain:

I don’t give a shit about sex.  Any broad can spread her legs.

You know what I do care about?  Holding girls to a higher standard.

Why?  Because my seed is liquid fucking gold and I don’t give it out like its god damn tap water.

And … I’ve already lost my appetite for dinner.

I got news for you girls.  For a guy with any clue, finding sex is as easy as finding a pizzeria in New York, and like pizza in New York, its all pretty fucking good.

Wait. I take that back. Pizza sounds good.

Sex is everywhere and anywhere I want it, I don’t give a shit about yours.

It takes more than a nice curve of the ass or a bat of the eyelashes to earn my seed.

This last sentence is even more awesome if you imagine it being read aloud by Morgan Freeman.

Huh? Am I right or what?

Oh, but it gets better. Read the next paragraph in the voice of your favorite somber-voiced actor:

My salty essence and genetic code is a gift from my father, and his father, and his father, and on it goes.  Its the sticky genetic code of self-sufficient men who have protected and provided for family, women and children.  Its the haplogroup of men who built civilization.  I have the genetic lineage of warriors, business owners, firefighters, blacksmiths, farmers, herders, poets, politicians, soldiers, artists and even chefs.  Hard jobs that help build the world, thinking jobs that help build a culture, they’ve all been done by men in my bloodline.  My ceiling for accomplishment is limitless.

And yet your great accomplishment is writing overheated, inadvertently hilarious, paeans to your spooge on the internet.

I’m not some average guy begging to give my seed away.  My seed is valuable and I know it.

Men of lesser genetics may be able to afford spraying their seed anywhere; I allow myself no such atrocities.

My sperm could populate an entire society of strong good looking altruistic people and any girl who takes it in would be lucky to be a vessel towards that new world.

Ah ha ha ha ha ha.

Also, since when are the gals you’re casually hooking up with looking to have babies with you? I mean, don’t you want this precious sperm of yours to have pretty much zero contact with her babymaking equipment? Also, you know, safe sex?

Whether or not our sex is intended to end in pregnancy makes no difference.  Just the sheer fact that it could makes me demand the same high price.

Ohhh. That makes sense. By which I mean “no sense.”

You better have enviable genetics yourself- I don’t breed with inferior stock.  Beauty is the minimum and you better know how important that is.  Long hair grown to impress me, healthy diet and exercise to maintain your figure and viability of your eggs.

Slow down a minute, Darwin. I’m pretty sure that the length of a woman’s hair has nothing to do with her genetic “worth.” Also, there’s not really much evidence to suggest that exercise helps to increase a woman’s fertility; and some even suggests that too much exercise can reduce it.

But the beauty that draws the stares, stutters and drools of lesser men won’t capture my attention for more than a millisecond.

Really? Because when I read LaidNYC I picture a dude who spends a lot of his time drooling.

I expect impeccable hygiene and classy style.  A body tainted by tattoos and excessive piercings and slutty clothing signals you are available for sex to lesser men than myself.  I’ll have none of that.

Only freshly showered nuns for him!

I demand a low N count to show you value your body and sex, and the seed I am about to give you will be appreciated on the level it deserves.  A low N count shows both intelligence and confidence as you are smart enough not to give your body to charlatans and scoundrels, and confident enough to wait for the high value man you know you deserve.

How exactly do you figure that a dude writing a 9,000-word* screed on the awesomeness of his man juice on the internet fits into the category of “high value men?”

I expect manners and grace.  No swearing, drunkenness, burping, sarcasm or anything else unbecoming of a lady.  I spend a lot of time working with and competing against men in my daily life, the last thing I need is the company of a woman who acts like the men I must compete with.  You exist to soothe, not to grate.

Wait, wait, wait. You work with guys who compete with you by swearing, getting drunk, and burping a lot? What sort of job do you have, exactly?

A year from now I will be richer and fitter and more socially respected in the Kingdom, but your beauty will have faded a notch.  I demand that you treat me with the humility and respect that this biological reality dictates.

I suspect the only Kingdom he’s respected in is the Kingdom Up His Own Ass.

Ok, a bit of a warning here, LaidNYC is about to get all jizz-on-the-face on us all:

Finally, there is nothing I despise more than a woman who shows any disgust for my jizz.

It is the Royal Essence and you better enjoy every last drop.

If it lands on your face, chest or back, consider it raindrops from heaven, a rope of Holy Yogurt.

Holy Yogurt, Batman!

Again, give this shit the Morgan Freeman treatment for maximum effect.

If you are lucky enough to get it in your mouth, savor it like the nourishing nectar of the Gods.

If I shoot it inside you consider it the greatest compliment of all.  You will feel an immediate buzz.

My jizz is to women what Walter White’s pure blue meth is to junkies.

Hey, I’m only caught up to season 3 of Breaking Bad. NO SPOILERS PLEASE.

You’ll take my seed, sweetly tell me “thank you sir” and buzz with happy feminine energy for the next day while you iron my fine shirts and indulge in memories of me.

Wait, so you only date women who work at the dry cleaners?

Some girls don’t want to respect a man that much.  They have been poisoned by feminism or never had a strong male figure to look up to growing up or they have already taken far too high a volume of cock to revere their next one.

How exactly do you measure volume of cock? Do you have to use the metric system? I don’t really understand the metric system.

I have no use for those girls.  Even a one-night stand with them is worthless beyond the ten-second orgasm, itself not worth the time spent to get it. Leave them for the men who have a low enough opinion of themselves to not demand such respect.

For guys, I don’t give a shit how many girls you’ve fucked just like I don’t give a shit how many pizzerias you’ve eaten at.  A man is measured more by the pizzeria’s he refuses to eat at, the prices he refuses to pay for average pizza, if you know what I mean.

Yes, that’s right.

A MAN IS MEASURED BY THE PRICE HE REFUSES TO PAY FOR AVERAGE PIZZA.

I wonder if LaidNYC gets into arguments with pizza delivery guys all the time.

Remember, you set the price of your seed.

Mine is fucking gold.

Yet somehow I suspect alot of it ends up on wadded-up kleenex.

ALOT

Sorry.  A lot.

* I can’t count.

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Posted on September 4, 2013, in alpha males, antifeminism, are these guys 12 years old?, evo psych fairy tales, grandiosity, irony alert, it's science!, laidnyc, men who should not ever be with women ever, misogyny, penises, precious bodily fluids, PUA, shit that never happened and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 298 Comments.

  1. Squirrel boogers are exceedingly difficult to harvest, but they’re not going to fetch a high price on eBay.

    Don’t be too sure. Rule 34 and all that.

    Conversely, tap water, cheap and common though it may be, is useful. It improves everyone’s health and hygiene. It’s a universal solvent. It’s beautiful to look at and listen to and swim in.

    This is true!

  2. malcolmspeakeasy

    You might be right. LOL!

  3. I feel like imitating that cat. It is way too hot in my apartment, and doesn’t look like it’s going to cool down any time soon.

  4. sarahlizhousespouse

    @LBT

    Sorry, I’m late to the party.
    I love when men with dark hair grow it long. I’m not overly fond long blond or red hair grown long, but long, brunette hair is just… gorgeous.

  5. I finally saw “Anchorman” the other day and now I can only picture Will Ferrell saying these lines.

  6. Reading things like this used to make my husband laugh out loud but now it mostly just makes him feel bad for the people who write them. Not because their writing is being mocked (and oh he’ll definitely still mock these things himself), but because of the state of mind that’s warped men of low self-esteem into to writing things like this and how people rarely stop thinking like this once they start.

  7. RE: Buttercup Q. Skullpants

    I have no skill at braiding. I think I saw one of the kids doing it for him, though!

    I have no desire to grow my hair long myself. I remember back when our hair was long and we were too deep in the closet to dare cut it really short. I DO NOT MISS THOSE DAYS.

  8. This guy has seriously never slept with a woman, or only one. This partner counting issue, volume of cock fear, etc, all point to still having hangups about sex due to not having had much of it.

  9. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one reminded of Every Sperm is Sacred:

  10. I love when men with dark hair grow it long. I’m not overly fond long blond or red hair grown long, but long, brunette hair is just… gorgeous.

    I saw a man the other day with the most incredible long red curling hair – pre-Raphaelite hair. Fantastic look.

  11. “How exactly do you figure that a dude writing a 9,000-word* screed on the awesomeness of his man juice on the internet fits into the category of “high value men?””

    Hilarious! I find most of his crap offensive, but this article of LaidNYC’s had me laughing my ass off. If he seriously thinks this way, I just pity him. WOW.

    Kudos to the author of this article for all the witty, funny-as-hell commentary on this guy’s bullshit.

  12. I completely lost it at “Holy Yogurt”. Pure comedy gold.

  13. Steve Jobs has some words for this dude about being adopted and successful.

  14. You exist to soothe, not to grate.

    If that isn’t the clearest representative sample, distilled into one single sentence, of the misogynistic core of these “men’s” worldview, I don’t know what is.

  15. My salty essence and genetic code is a gift from my father, and his father, and his father, and on it goes. Its [sic] the sticky genetic code of self-sufficient men who have protected and provided for family, women and children. Its [sic] the haplogroup of men who built civilization.

    Perhaps you never took a biology class (or had the sex-talk with Mommy and/or Daddy). Your “salty essence” is one-half your father, one quarter your grandfather, and so on. The other half? That’s your mom right there, swimming in your testicles with your dad, your grandparents — his AND hers — and so on. (I thought that putting it that way might help you, as you seem to like poetic, metaphoric imagery so much.)

    Furthermore, using the term “essence” to describe your semen is a little simplistic. While it is your genetics, each one of your “guys” is only a random combination of about *half* of your genes. That’s where the whole “haploid” thing (as opposed to “diploid”) comes in.

    And further yet, since it’s so precious, and since the chance of conception while your pink princess is ovulating is about 3-5%, and since, if you attempt to reproduce, only one of your “guys” is going to make it to the egg, you’ll be wasting a LOT of gold in the process. So, maybe think about not breeding and enjoying your gold all by yourself?

    The world would thank you. We might even pay you.

    Also, in case you’re still wanting to reproduce, you might want to add more fruit to your diet. I’ve heard that that can sweeten your “salty essence” a bit — you know, so you can help her dutifully enjoy every last drop of heavenly rain.

    PS: As a former card-carrying member of the Grammar Police, I am honor-bound to tell you that “its” is the possessive, or genitive, form of “it”; “it’s” is a contraction of “it” and “is.” You wanted “It’s the sticky genetic code…” and “It’s the haplogroup….” Apparently, your “essence” doesn’t include those who had a facility with writing, language, grammar, and so forth. That’s okay, not everyone does. However, conflating “its” and “it’s” gives a distinctly bronze sheen to that gold of yours.

    Also, while the Oxford, or serial, comma isn’t mandatory in all styles of writing, it really is clearer. Although your sentence ending in “women and children” wasn’t confusing (at least grammatically), there are other instances involving longer lists that include coordinated noun-phrases wherein the lack of an Oxford comma would render the sentence less clear — and consistency is key in honing your writer’s voice! But that’s just a recommendation.

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